Morganville Vampires: Black Hands
by Chrisilove
Summary: When Oliver runs across a black cat, Morganville will soon be turned upside-down. This cat isn't just any old feline, as he and Myrnin soon discover-it's a humanoid shapeshifter. And it's brought a whirlwind of trouble with it.
1. Specials

** I'm totally excited for this new story! :D Tell me what you think, even if it's criticism! It'd mean a lot to me! ;)**

** Chapter 1**

Twinkling stars poked their shining heads out to play in the night sky as Oliver strode lazily below. Somehow, tonight they seemed much brighter to him than usual, as if they were taunting him. He scowled and directed his gaze toward the ground and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his black trench coat. He felt like the happy stars above were dangling their shimmering giggles of joy in his face.

Everything was depressing him. Nothing made him happy anymore. Life was now pointless.

If there was no joy in living, then what was the purpose? Living in Morganville had taken away the thrill of the hunt; Amelie would never return his uncertain feelings; he was a pet to the humans. But was immortality something to be thrown away so easily?

Just then a small streak of black followed by a much larger shadow darted across Oliver's path. On any other day, Oliver would have simply continued on without giving the two shadows a second glance. But now he easily intercepted the larger object—which turned out to be a savage dog with wild eyes and a thick coat of reddish-brown fur. Firmly striking the dog on the snout, Oliver drove it away then turned to find the small creature it'd been chasing. It didn't take long. The stench of fear pulsating from it left a trail not easily ignored. Crouching down amidst the trash the animal had taken shelter in he found it—a black kitten—curled in a shivering ball. Reaching out, he gently stroked a finger along the kitten's downy fur and felt the bones of its spine and ribs jabbing through its skin.

The pitiful thing peered out with the pale, glowing, grey eyes. Oliver smiled, just barely, and cupped his hand around the kitten. "I bet you want something to eat, don't you? I suppose I can scrape something up for you." The black bundle croaked a rough mew as he cradled it against his chest and started for home.

O.o.O

Myrnin had been walking out to spring a surprise visit on Amelie when he'd run across Oliver who was clutching something to his chest protectively and hurrying out of from a convenience store with a plastic bag swinging from his hand. Naturally, Myrnin's curiosity had been caught like a butterfly in a spider web. So he stalked Oliver from the shadows, careful not to announce his presence. Luckily, Oliver seemed quite engrossed in the package he carried. At one point, Myrnin thought he might have heard the other vampire crooning softly to it, but he decided his ears were playing tricks on him.

Oliver didn't croon.

When they reached Oliver's house, the dark man immediately entered, slamming the door behind him. Myrnin crept closer to peek into the window.

Although it was pitch black inside, Myrnin could see perfectly, and his night vision allowed him a glance of the tail of Oliver's trench coat disappearing into the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Frowning, Myrnin rounded the house and looked through the window of Oliver's kitchen.

Inside, to Myrnin's astonishment, Oliver was struggling to open a can of cat food while a tiny, scraggly, black kitten sat on the counter watching. An amused smile tugged at Myrnin's lips when Oliver cursed at the stubborn can. Finally, he simply tore the can apart with brute strength, making the contents splatter all over the kitchen. Myrnin choked back a guffaw, but he sobered when he noticed the kitten's ears suddenly go rigid and twitch back toward him. When the kit swiveled its head to stare at him, Myrnin suddenly felt frozen—something was holding him there in place against his will.

Oliver soon noticed the strange way the kit was staring outside, and then he caught sight of Myrnin whose face was frozen in a stifled laugh. Growling under his breath, Oliver unlocked the window and shoved it upward. "What the hell are you doing here? Spying on me?"

For a moment more, Myrnin stayed frozen then the kit blinked and Myrnin could look up at Oliver with a stunned expression on his face.

"Well?" Oliver rumbled.

Without missing another beat, Myrnin inquired, "Where did you find that cat, Oliver?"

"The cat—no, you answer my question first. You're on my private property, and last time I checked I can throw you off of it."

"I followed you because I wanted to know what you were holding and why you'd purchased something from the convenience store. Now, Oliver, the cat, please."

Glaring at the intruder, Oliver explained, "It was being chased by a dog. I saved it. Happy? Leave."

"Why did you save a kitten? You hold no affection for animals. What made you take in this one?"

Oliver blinked. "I-I just wanted to at the time. Why does it matter so much?"

A thoughtful silence blanketed Myrnin, and he watched the kit who watched him back intently with those mesmerizing, green eyes. "I don't think that's just any ordinary cat, Oliver."

"Nonsense. It's a cat. There's nothing more to it."

"I wouldn't be so sure…" Myrnin trailed off and began climbing through the window. Placing an aggressive hand on the other vampire's shoulder, Oliver snapped,

"I didn't invite you into my home." But Myrnin simply slithered out from under Oliver's grip and approached the black smudge of fur atop the counter. The pair stared at each other—pale green and coal black observing one another. All the while, Oliver tried sending Myrnin mental signals that he was about to die.

"Quit glowering at me, Oliver. Doesn't it take more energy to hate than to ignore?" Silently admitting he was right Oliver stepped toward a large chunk of cat food and picked it up from the floor to offer to the kit. It sniffed the food carefully then quickly cleaned Oliver's hand.

"Why do you think something is wrong with this cat?" Oliver asked, trying his best to hide his curiosity.

Myrnin's reply was short, simple, and preoccupied. "Because it can do magic."

That made Oliver freeze. He blinked and looked at Myrnin with disbelief. "I'm sorry?"

"I know you heard me, and I'm not insane. Anymore. We were all cured, remember?"

"Of course I remember. But magic? I thought you were a man of science, Myrnin."

"I simply used the term to help you understand. Since I've yet to fully understand this creature's true nature I can't say with certainty how it performs it little tricks. All I'm sure of is that it persuaded you to rescue it, and it shut down my nervous system simply by looking at me."

Oliver folded his arms over his chest stubbornly. "How can you be so sure it did those things?"

"Just a feeling."

The kitten leaped down from the countertop and landed on wobbly legs. Oliver watched it stumble toward a new pile of cat food and wondered if Myrnin could be right. It _was_ strange how he'd been compelled to protect the kit back in the street. "How can we find out for certain?" he asked finally.

Myrnin thought for a moment, staring as the kit licked food from the floor. "I don't really know. The closest thing to this phenomenon I've experienced is our ability to hypnotize people."

"Like you used to do when your alleyway was referred to as the home of the trapdoor spider."

Myrnin blinked and frowned, remembering. "Yes," he answered slowly.

"It must be powerful to be able to work on us."

"Very powerful indeed, and to think such a pitiful creature possesses it and can still use it even in such a desperate condition."

Oliver scooped the kit up in his hand to gaze at it. The scrawny thing extended a pink-padded paw and let out a happy meow. Its purr felt soothing and strong against his hand. "It doesn't seem dangerous."

"Even so I think I'd best take it back to my lab so I can keep an eye on it." Myrnin gently took the kit from Oliver and started for the door. As he opened it, the kit tensed and raised its hackles. An angry growl rose from its throat as it glared out into the night. Searching for the cause of this reaction, Myrnin spied a huge figure shrouded in shadow at the end of Oliver's lawn. "It's just a dog. Nothing I can't deal with," Myrnin told the kit.

But when he stepped out onto the porch the cat extended its claws and streaked over Myrnin's shoulder back into the house. Myrnin heard Oliver cry out in surprise and pain. He found the cat had climbed up Oliver and on top of his head where it crouched, hissing. "Well," Myrnin remarked, holding back a wave of laughter, "I suppose that means it's not going to be leaving anytime soon."

His voice quivering with fury, Oliver reached a twitching hand out toward Myrnin's throat. "I am going to kill you."

"Now, now, it's not my fault. How was I to know it'd overreact so immensely?"

Oliver's eye twitched and he reached up to pry the kit's claws loose. He held it by the scruff away from himself. They stared each other down, anger on innocence. "Don't ever do that again. Do you understand, you little pest?"

Myrnin couldn't keep the laughter in, and he held onto the doorframe, shaking with amusement. When he straightened up, Oliver had come closer, dark eyes alight with menace. "Get out."

Raising a scolding finger, Myrnin said, "Don't be so rude, Oliver. Even you have to admit it was funny. And do you really want me to leave you here alone with a cat whose powers are unknown? It could probably kill you if it wanted to. Of course, that doesn't matter to _me _but..." He stopped talking when the kit in Oliver's grip began hissing again, swiping toward Myrnin. No. _Past_ Myrnin. He turned on his heel to discover the coppery colored dog had approached the open door, and now it stood a few feet away, lips raised and fur bristling.

Suddenly, Oliver appeared beside Myrnin and set the kit in his arms. Then he stepped out into the night, and Myrnin realized Oliver was growling deep in his chest. His body took on a wild, animalistic composure, and he looked like a rattlesnake poised to strike. The dog's eyes flashed confusion—an oddly human reaction. Oliver lunged at the hound, which immediately dodged and countered by landing a strong bite on the vampire's arm. Oliver roared and smashed the dog's head with his fist. The squeal that erupted from the dog ripped at Myrnin's heart. It was strong, almost making him rush out to stop Oliver, but something kept him rooted to the spot. It felt as if two ropes were pulling him. One anchored him to the spot while the other wrenched him out to stop Oliver.

The mutt had backed up to the steps of the porch, and abruptly, Oliver paused. He straightened up and reentered the house. As he passed, he patted the kit on the head then looked out to the dog who crouched, frightened, in the dark. The cat jumped down to the ground and faced the dog bravely—although it was still inside the doorway—and let out a triumphant yowl before turning around to swagger away.

Myrnin began closing the door, but the feeling to attack Oliver returned; only this time it was slightly different. He didn't feel like attacking Oliver, but like attacking the cat. It seemed Oliver was under this strange influence as well. They both stalked up on the kit silently. It turned just in time to see them before they both plunged in to attack. Now another pressure sat atop the feeling to attack the cat. Myrnin and Oliver both struggled, being moved by some odd power to assault both animals.

Letting out a strangled cry, Myrnin stumbled away, into the living room, but the pressures didn't ease up. Acting on impulse, he lifted Oliver's end table and chucked it at the dog. Suddenly, all of the pressures disappeared.

Oliver rushed out, chasing the dog away into the night.

Rubbing his temples, Myrnin gazed at the cat. "That was you, wasn't it?" But the kit didn't even move. Then suddenly it began trembling like a leaf in the wind; its legs collapsed under itself; its unconscious body crashing to the ground.

Quickly lifting the limp creature into his hands, Myrnin checked its vitals. Oliver returned just as he finished, and Myrnin, filled with relief, sighed, "It is okay. I think it just exhausted itself doing whatever it was it was doing."

Oliver tenderly brushed its ear with a finger. When he saw Myrnin staring at him in shock, he pulled away and started upstairs. "The sun will be coming up soon. I'm going to bed. Stay if you want. I don't care."

"I think I'll watch over the kit, make sure it is okay."

Oliver hesitated at the foot of the stairs. Without turning around, he muttered, "Thanks."

O.o.O

Somehow, sleeping in a bathtub was oddly comfortable. He'd slept in the bathroom since it was the only room besides Oliver's bedroom that lacked windows. Myrnin stretched as he lifted himself from his porcelain bed. With a start, he realized the kit had disappeared. He'd fallen asleep with the cat on his stomach, but now it was gone. Stepping out into the hallway, he clucked at the wrinkles that had formed in his vest and pants from sleeping in them.

An alarmed shout sent him sprinting into the room it'd come from—which was apparently Oliver's bedroom because inside, the aforementioned vampire was standing with his shirt in his hand, gesturing toward a young girl of around twelve years of age. Oliver's eyes were squeezed shut with his free hand covering them, probably because the girl was completely naked. "Myrnin! Cover up this—creature!" Rolling his eyes, Myrnin snatched Oliver's shirt and slowly approached the girl.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to give you this so you'll have something to wear. You must be cold, huh?" The girl looked up at him blankly for a moment before taking the shirt from Myrnin. When she'd pulled it over her head, Myrnin helped her to her feet and said, "Alright, Oliver. She's decent."

With an angry grunt, Oliver turned. "That's just fine and dandy, but _what the hell is she doing here_!?"

Before anymore could be said, the girl dropped to the ground and bowed her head to the floor. "I am called Amyr. I offer my deepest gratitude for your kindness towards me, and I apologize for any and all inconvenience my stay has caused."

Myrnin's brow rose at her formal aura; everything about her was princess-like, right down to the long straight black hair, pale grey eyes, pale skin, and pretty much everything else about her. "You shouldn't be on that cold floor, dear. Come, stand up. You don't need to thank us or apologize."

"Speak for yourself, Myrnin!" Oliver growled.

Myrnin sent him a cold glower. Pulling Amyr to her feet, he guided her to Oliver's bed. She flattened the shirt out like it was a delicate dress. "I am very sorry. If I can ever repay you—"

"Wait. So you're the cat?" Oliver asked, dumbstruck.

"You're just now figuring that out, Oliver? I must say, I've given you far too much credit this whole time," Myrnin sighed.

"Yes. I was the feline that you rescued last night. Please accept my sincerest apologies for causing your wound," Amyr said in her whispery tone.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Amyr. Oliver's wounds tend to heal…quickly…" Myrnin's voice faded when he saw that the bite mark from the dog last night had yet to disappear. It looked as if it had barely even healed at all.

Oliver's eyes were wide. "How—?"

"Your vampire healing powers are easily put to disuse by an attack from one of my kind."

Myrnin swallowed, anxious of her answer to his question. "And what might your kind be?"

Amyr blinked up at him with clear, grey eyes. "The Specials."


	2. Morganville's New Pets

**Thanks for all of the positive feedback, everybody! Sorry that I'm taking so long to update. I have SO much going on. But I promise that now I should be more regular with my updates. Anyway, enjoy!**

** Chapter 2**

Oliver stared at Myrnin and the girl from where he leaned against the wall, bored. He just wanted these intruders out of his home, but they kept carrying on this conversation as if it actually mattered to him what the girl was or why she was here.

"I don't understand. There are others like you that can morph into cats?" Myrnin asked the girl.

Amyr replied, "Not just cats. Most of us become our own kind of animal. There are dogs and birds and reptiles. All kinds."

"And you all have powers like mind control?"

"Well, it is not quite mind control, but yes."

Myrnin's dark eyes were very intent and serious as he watched Amyr. "How many of you are there?"

"I don't know."

That made the vampire blink. "How can you not know?"

"They don't let us socialize often."

"'They'?"

"Yes, the…" Amyr trailed off, her grey eyes becoming unfocused. Before anyone could do anything more she announced solemnly, "He's here." Then she calmly stood up and walked purposefully toward the door. Oliver raised an eyebrow as she passed, ignoring Myrnin's voice telling him to stop her.

Amyr stepped out into the hall, and Myrnin quickly swept after her, grumbling irately as he walked by Oliver. Rolling his eyes, Oliver followed slowly.

Soon, the three reached the bottom of the stairs where Amyr seemed to head straight for the front door. "Good. Get out of my house," Oliver called, earning him a glare from Myrnin. But Amyr was not going for the door after all. As she reached the archway leading to Oliver's living room, she stopped and turned to face into the room. Myrnin came up beside her and looked for the source of why she was staring. He found it straight away.

Sitting with his arms stretched casually along the back of the couch was a young man with shaggy, red-brown hair and angry, dark eyes. "Who are you?" Myrnin asked, frowning at this sudden development. At Myrnin's question, Oliver rushed to see who he was asking.

The boy did not answer. He just simply glared unblinking at Amyr. So she answered for him. "He is called Lutharathzmas." Oliver had to admit that although he'd heard some strange names in his many years, that one was the weirdest. She'd pronounced it like "Luther" and "asthmas" mashed together, but Oliver wasn't about to even try saying it. He cared more about how this dolt had found his way into Oliver's home. Stepping into the living room, Oliver ground out between clenched teeth, "Get. Out."

Lutharathzmas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's okay. I'm comfortable right here."

Oliver's fingers unconsciously curled into a very pissed off fist. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low and calm. "I don't care where you're comfortable; I want all of you _out_!"

"Oh, believe me; I want to leave as soon as I can. But I can't go without her." Lutharathzmas pointed to Amyr. Myrnin moved in front of her protectively.

"Why do you want her?" Myrnin asked.

"It's not me that wants her."

Amyr placed a small hand on Myrnin's arm, stopping his response. "Lutharathzmas, I do not wish to return to that place. Oliver and Myrnin, I apologize for my inconveniencing you. I will leave here, but I will not go back."

"What place are you talking about that you don't want to go back to?" Myrnin queried.

"We call it the Facility. It is where I come from."

Myrnin seemed confused. "You mean your home?"

Both Amyr and Lutharathzmas adamantly replied "No," at the same time.

"Then what is this place?"

Amyr and Lutharathzmas exchanged a glance, communicating silently. After a pause, Amyr said, "It is where they made us."

"As in where you were born?" Myrnin prompted.

Another look travelled between the two younger ones. "In a way, yes," Amyr said.

"What the hell does that mean?" Oliver growled, his arms crossed angrily over his chest. He saw it was obvious that they weren't going to leave until this issue was settled, so he was trying to urge it along.

Lutharathzmas explained, "Amyr and I were created by a group of scientists who work at the Facility. They've been making super humans by tampering with the brains and DNA of unborn children. We are a small portion of the result."

"Only a portion?" Myrnin said.

"Of course. There are many others like us." Lutharathzmas leaned back, examining his nails as if he was bored by the conversation. "But none of that matters. Amyr has to come with me. No excuses."

"No, Lutharathzmas," Amyr responded defiantly. She flowed out from behind Myrnin and launched herself toward the boy. Lutharathzmas seemed unfazed. He rose quickly, sidestepping her, backing away, and crouching as if to attack. Amyr's grey eyes focused on him intently as she too poised to strike. For a moment, everything froze. Nobody breathed, nobody moved. Myrnin and Oliver were too engrossed in the battle to think of helping the girl.

Then the room exploded into action. Amyr and Lutharathzmas leaped at each other, but when they collided, they weren't human any longer. Amyr had resumed her feline form, and Lutharathzmas was now the bulky, scruffy dog that had chased Amyr the night before. Both were snarling, fangs bared, and both lashed at each other furiously. Amyr's small, agile form allowed her to dart beneath Lutharathzmas, a little black shadow. She dug her claws into the thick fur on his hind leg and jetted up to snap her sharp teeth on his pointed ear. He let out an angry squeal and rolled on his back, squishing her. She yowled and streaked across the room, nearly crashing into the wall.

The dog faced her, his ears flattened menacingly and he barked loudly. She hissed in response. Just as Myrnin seemed about to intercede, there was a knock at the door.

Everyone stopped.

The knock sounded again, oddly foreign in the situation. Vampire glanced at vampire; dog glanced at cat; cat glanced at vampire, all in confusion. When the knock turned into a frantic banging, Oliver walked past Myrnin to reach for the doorknob and open it slowly, suspiciously.

Outside, standing on the porch in jean shorts and a yellow halter top was a tall, young girl with vibrant, flowing, red hair. Her pale blue eyes peered at Oliver from under luscious, dark lashes. They watched each other for a moment before the girl glanced past Oliver into the house. He watched as she struck a long, slender, pale leg across the threshold, his eyes widening at the action. He could tell she wasn't a vampire. How were these non-vampire people entering his home without his permission?

The girl swaggered toward where Myrnin stood in the archway of the living room, Oliver following her, his tongue ready to lash like a whip. But she spoke before he could. She pursed her pouted, red lips and growled, "Luth, this isn't how we agreed to do this." The big, rust-colored canine that Lutharathzmas had morphed into made an argumentative noise like dogs do when they want something. The red-head girl sighed, "Would you please change back so you can _speak_? I'm not a pooch. I don't speak dog."

Lutharathzmas's dog formed rolled his eyes—a very strange sight, seeing such a human mannerism performed by a dog. Then right in front of their eyes, he shoved himself onto his hind legs and began to take the shape of a human. Oliver grimaced at the fact that Lutharathzmas no longer wore any clothes. Thankfully, however, he reached down and yanked his jeans on, but left the rest of his clothes on the floor. Then he dropped back onto the couch and glowered at the red-head.

"Thank you," she said before taking a seat on the couch opposite him.

As the staring contest between the two continued to drag on, Oliver hissed, "Well, shall I bring refreshments? Because I'm obviously hosting a _party_!"

The red-head snapped her head to gaze at him with half-lidded eyes as if she was bored. "Oh. Sorry. We'll be leaving as soon as Amyr agrees to come. We can't go back without her," she said. Then she scanned the room for Amyr. "Speaking of which, where did she go?"

Startled, Oliver frowned and glanced around for the little, black puff of fur. She was nowhere to be found. Then he caught sight of the open front door. _Oops_, he thought. Mildly, he pointed to the door. When the red-head followed his gesture, she scowled and stood up. Lutharathzmas followed her, but Oliver barred both their ways with his arm. "First, I am going to pummel both of you for entering my home uninvited. Second, you are going to explain _how_ you entered uninvited. A feat which should be impossible and I have a feeling you know why. And third, _who are you_?" he said, his voice low as he glared coldly into both their eyes.

Yet neither seemed fazed. The red-head crossed her arms and shifted her weight sassily. "First, you wouldn't win a fight against me despite your superhuman strength—yes, we know what you are. Second, we got in here because we _wanted _to. We get what we want. Third, my name is Christabelle. Happy?" She returned his icy stare with an equally blazing glower. Oliver had to admit that she could possibly rival his powers of intimidation. _Maybe._

He screwed his face into a snarl. "Happy? _Happy?_ If you think answering my questions makes it alright for you to—"

Christabelle interrupted him with an exasperated scoff and roll of the eyes just before she ducked beneath his arm and swept toward the door. Oliver's expression was wiped clean from pure shock. _That insolent, little—_ he fumed silently. Lutharathzmas smirked, amused. That was the last straw. Oliver flitted to stop Christabelle at the top of porch steps. If she'd had normal reflexes, she'd have bumped into his chest. But as it was, she just raised an eyebrow and looked into Oliver's eyes. She sighed, "Look, you ancient fossil," Oliver's mouth dropped, "I'm not going to—"

"I will twist your obnoxious, flaming head off, you little twit!" he muttered dangerously.

"Oh? I don't think so." As the last word flowed from her glossy lips, she began to shrink. Oliver watched, mesmerized, as she transformed into an unusually graceful pigeon with feathers spattered with black and white. The bird caught the yellow halter top she'd been wearing a second before in her beak and began to flap away. Oliver still wasn't used to these strange transformations.

"She's a stubborn chick, huh?" drawled an amused voice from the door. Lutharathzmas was leaning against the doorframe, a cocky smirk on his face.

Myrnin shoved past him. Giving Lutharathzmas a glare, he said, "This is no time for puns. We should go find Amyr."

"You can. I don't have time to waste on this mess," Oliver mumbled, stalking toward the door.

Myrnin grabbed his arm and asked, "Do you really want to just leave her out there on her own? She's only a child."

"Yes, a child who enchanted her way into my home. These _children_ are more trouble than they're worth. Do you not recall being controlled last night?"

"Exactly. Do you really want to allow children with power like that to go unsupervised in the town?"

That caught Oliver off-guard. He frowned, thinking.

"Well," Lutharathzmas said, pushing away from the doorframe, "while you geezers stand here and contemplate your options, I'm going to go catch me a cat."

O.o.O

Heart set to burst, Amyr pelted through the dark streets, fear rolling off her in waves. She was _not_ returning to the Facility. All she wanted was a little freedom, and she wasn't going to let them take it from her. Glancing up again at the tiny shadow in the sky she knew to be Christabelle, Amyr considered finding a hiding place. But then again, Lutharathzmas would sniff her out easily.

Just as she decided to find a puddle or something to wash or mask her scent with, a deep, guttural hissing sound came from behind a dumpster at her side. That was no normal cat's hiss; she knew that sound. Trembling slightly with instinctive fear, Amyr backed away as the giant crocodile stalked out from his hiding place.


	3. Determination is often Rewarded

** Hey! So I'm trying to keep my promise about updating more. ;) Now that I've got time, I should be able to keep it this up. :D Yay!**

**Chapter 3**

Looking into the eyes of the great, scaled beast before her, Amyr pulled her courage together and fluffed her fur, letting out her most intimidating hiss. The croc was unfazed. _And why shouldn't he be?_ Amyr thought to herself. _He knows me. He knows I could never bear to hurt him. Not that my tiny claws would make even then slightest scratch on that thick hide._

"Amyr, come on," said a familiar voice. "Cut it out. We gotta go back. You know we can't get away from them no matter how hard we try." Moxie, adorable Moxie with her curly blond bangs hanging in her face and her punk wristbands. Amyr growled in her throat to show what she thought of Moxie's words.

That made the croc, one of Amyr's good friends, Deredon, give a low gurgling sound in warning. Deredon never let anything happen to Moxie—nothing he could stop, anyway. If that meant defending against his closest friends, he'd do it in a second. He snapped his powerful, reptile jaws together, making an ear-splitting noise to intimidate her. But she was not backing down. Not now.

Deredon was powerful, but he was slow. She spun around and darted into the night, keeping to the shadows. The sound of Moxie transforming and giving chase spurred Amyr's legs to their limit. She had more stamina than a normal human, but even she was going to tire eventually. She needed to find a place to hide. But first, she needed to mask her scent. As if on cue, she flew past a trashcan that'd been knocked on its side. The stench of rotting food floated into her nose and mouth, but she held her breath and quickly waded into the mass. Rolling in the junk, she tried not to think about what she was covering herself with.

When she heard Moxie's soft footpads hitting the concrete, Amyr slid out of the trash and hopped on top of the can. The metal felt cold against her blazing paws; she'd never run so much on such rough ground before. She looked around for somewhere to perched and found a brick window ledge about a foot above her. Scrambling up, Amyr curled her tail around her and hoped that her black fur would make her disappear into the shadows.

A moment later, the perky silhouette of Moxie's transformation—a small collie mix with long, mottled fur—barreled around the corner. Her cocked ears were alert, and her black nose was shoved to the ground. She slowed as she passed Amyr's hiding place, having lost the trail. She sniffed around in circles for a moment, whining anxiously in the back of her throat. Then Deredon appeared—in human form now. He'd donned clothes, a black T-shirt and jeans, and knelt down as Moxie, ears down in shame at having lost Amyr, trotted up to him. "Don't worry, Mox," he consoled softly, rubbing her head gently. "We'll find her. Call Christabelle and Luth. We need to regroup and think."

Following his orders, Moxie lifted her head and howled a signal to the others. The howl lasted for a bit, and apparently people didn't find it pleasing in the least. The window behind Amyr suddenly flew open, making her let out a startled yowl. As the human shouted at Moxie to shut up, Deredon and Moxie's eyes zeroed in on Amyr. _Perfect,_ she sighed inwardly before shooting off down the sidewalk.

The ground erupted with vibrations as Deredon and Moxie pounded after her. If she weren't so agile and quick, Deredon would've easily taken her over in his human form. But even though he was in very good shape, he couldn't compete with a petite speed-demon who could climb fences faster than a monkey. So when she caught sight of the shiny mesh, she charged straight at it, leaping halfway up the fence then clawing her way up the rest until she dropped down on the other side.

She didn't wait for the others to catch up; she just headed right through the streets, heading somewhere, _anywhere_.

O.o.O

"You're going to burn yourself," Claire warned. She was watching Shane attempt to reach barehanded into the oven to retrieve an almost-done roll.

"I'm hungry! Sorry if I don't want to wait for—_Ow_!" Shane sucked in a breath, flapping his hand in the air. Claire rolled her eyes and set down the rag she'd been wiping the counter with.

"Let me see," she said, taking hold of his hand. When she didn't see any reddening spot her brow furrowed. "What—"

Shane cut her off, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her close. Mischievously he muttered, "I just said that so I could do this." Then he leaned down to kiss her softly on the neck.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and said, "You didn't have to do that just to get my attention. You've got it whenever you want." Just then, the oven timer went off. Claire gave him a quick peck on the cheek and slithered out of his arms, but he kept hold of her wrist.

"The rolls can wait," he said huskily. "You said I could have your attention whenever I wanted, so now I want it." He smirked darkly. "Specifically up in my bedroom."

Feeling the blush creep into her cheeks, Claire turned away to hide the little smile playing across her lips. "So you want me to let the rolls burn?"

His thick, muscled arms slid around her waist and he mumbled into her hair, "Hell yeah."

She was about to wriggled around when a loud crashing noise sounded just outside. That made them both freeze and look at each other apprehensively. "Stay here," Shane muttered. Before she could stop him, he'd taken hold of the backdoor handle and cautiously opened it. He stuck his head out the door and peered into the darkness. "I don't see anything."

"Maybe we should get Michael," Claire said worriedly. She didn't like Shane's head being out there, vulnerable to the town beasties that—though they'd made a kind of peace with them—could be unpredictable.

"Get Michael for what?" asked Michael's familiar tone from the kitchen doorway.

"We heard something outside. Want to take a look with your vamp vision?"

That made Michael smile. "Seems like I've turned into the guard dog for the house, huh?" He moved silently to stand beside Shane. After a moment, he stepped out onto the steps, turning his head this way and that. The moment his blond head jolted to halt, Claire knew he'd seen something. She stepped over and peaked around Shane's muscly shoulders. Michael had moved further outside, nearly outside the range of the light from the kitchen door, but Claire could see well enough to tell that he'd crouched down close to their trash can which had been tipped over. He straightened up and turned back to them, cradling something in his arms. "It's a cat!" he chuckled. "Poor thing looks pretty beat." Claire and Shane let him through as he came up the steps.

"If we feed it the damn thing will just keep coming back for more. Just put it back. It'll be fine," Shane suggested brutishly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Claire sent him a scolding glare as she walked to look at the cat. "Shane. It's just a kitten. Come on, it's not going to hurt to give it a warm bed for the night and some table scraps." She gazed down into Michael's arms as he sat at the kitchen table. The kitten had pitch black fur and was curled up adorably in a sleeping, little ball. "Aw! Shane, you can't tell me you don't want to hug the little guy until his head pops off."

"I thought you said you liked it," Shane snorted, smirking.

Rolling her eyes, Claire stroked her finger down the kitten's flank. It wriggled slightly, burying its face deep into Michael's shirt. Noticing that the poor thing was alarmingly skinny and covered in gunk, Claire announced, "I'll go make up a bed for it. It needs to rest first then we can clean it up and feed it."

"Oh, so now we're cleaning it up, huh?" Shane called after her. But she just shook her head and started up the stairs. She wondered if Michael would let them keep it. It was his house, after all; he called the shots. Grabbing towels out of the bathroom, Claire hoped that he'd decide to let it stay. It'd make the house a whole lot more…homey. Not that the Glass house wasn't homey, but pets added a sort of atmosphere that warmed a place up somehow.

She was walking back down the hallway toward the stairs when Eve, dressed plainly in a black cami and red, silk pajama pants, emerged from her room. She was scratching her head of short, black hair when she saw Claire carrying the towels and cardboard box. "What are you doing?" she asked curiously. That was Eve: always wanting to know everybody's business.

But it never bothered Claire. "Michael found a cat outside. I'm making a bed for it."

At her words, Eve's dark eyes lit up like a Christmas tree on Christmas Day. "A cat!?" she squeaked. "Oh my God! Why didn't you guys tell me!?" Before Claire could get a single syllable out, Eve turned and rushed downstairs. Claire, an amused smile on her face, heard Eve's squeal of delight as she climbed down to place the box in a free corner of the living room. She arranged the towels into a nest-like form then stood up to go get Michael. But she paused, seeing Shane standing over her.

"I had to get out of there," he said. "It was like a chick-fest. Eve went seriously overboard when she saw the cat was black. I'd almost rather she wore it as a piece of clothing."

"Don't say that. What's wrong with helping a pitiful little kitten?" Claire asked, standing to lean against him, her head and hands on his chest. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. He smelled like Shane, just the way she liked it.

He wrapped his arms around her, making her feel safe and warm. "I just don't like cats."

"But it's a kitten. Baby animals are irresistible," Claire said softly.

"Yeah, well that one interrupted our make-out session."

That made her laugh.

His big hand came up to stroke her hair, and he pulled back to gaze down at her with dark, smoky eyes. "You know what I find irresistible?"

She had a sneaking suspicion, but she felt mischievous. "What?"

Cupping her chin with his fingers, he leaned down so that their faces were only inches apart. "You," he said. Then he kissed her, pressing his lips hotly against hers and running his thumb across her cheek, making it sear like fire. He pressed her back until she bumped into the back of the couch then he lifted her to sit on it. With no back support, she hooked her arms around his neck to steady herself, grabbing his soft, black hair.

"Hey, Claire, did you—oh," called Michael's voice. Shane and Claire broke apart at the sound of his voice, but it obviously wasn't quick enough. His eyebrows were raised high above his crystal blue eyes. "Sorry," he said, a smirk starting at the corner of his mouth. "I was just looking for the bed for Blair."

"Blair?" Shane scoffed.

"Actually, Blair Lara Rebel Glass." Michael shook his head, shrugging. "Eve's named it."

"Oh, God. Now we've got a gothic cat," Shane sighed, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Next thing, Eve's going to become a witch and we'll all be turned into toads for her potions."

Claire giggled at his creepy voice and told Michael, "The bed is over there." She gestured with her chin.

"Okay. Thanks," Michael said and lifted the box. Just before he reentered the kitchen he threw a smirk over his shoulder and chuckled, "I'll let you two lovebirds get back to business." Then he disappeared behind the kitchen door.

Claire rolled her eyes, smiling. But Shane seemed to take his words a bit more seriously. He lightly grasped Claire's fingers in his hand and pulled her off the back of the couch. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the stairs as if they were a limousine prepared to take them to a castle ball.

** Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you liked it. If you did, you know, leave a review because they're pretty awesome you know. ;)**


	4. They're Here

**Ugh…back in school again…BUT! I'm not too busy with the work, yet, so yay! :) Anyway, have fun with this chapter. I have to say, it is pre-tty intense…at the end. ;)**

** Chapter 4**

Christabelle sighed, skimming her fingers through her fiery locks. She examined the tendrils for split ends, ignoring Luth's dark eyes watching her, waiting for her to answer his question. After a few more minutes, he growled and jumped up from the empty barrel he'd been sitting on. They were all anxious, and it was making them jumpy. He whirled to slam his hands on the arms of her chair. She did not flinch. "Luth, I'm thinking," Christabelle muttered, her voice dangerously soft. But as she spoke more, her volume began to rise. "But if you keep staring at me and annoying me I won't tell you my idea for getting Amyr back even if I _come up with one_!" Her blue eyes, the color of the sky on a sunny day, glared at him with a blazing fury.

He straightened up, looking down his nose at her. "I just don't understand how you could have lost her. You can fly; you even had _Moxie_ to help you! She's a better tracker than _me_."

She rolled her eyes, sneering in exasperation. "Oh, please! Luth, you are so arrogant! Seriously, where does all that hot air that flies from your mouth come from?"

His face reddened—probably more from anger than embarrassment. But at that moment, Deredon and Moxie walked in. "Lovers' spat again, guys? Come on, kiss and make up," Deredon's loud, deep tone chuckled. Christabelle scowled and turned her back to Luth. She couldn't see him, but she had a feeling he was sticking his tongue out at her.

"Any luck?" she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her tone.

Moxie spat on the concrete floor of the warehouse, making Christabelle grimace. "Not a bit. I can hardly pick up her scent with all the weird ones hanging around. Those creepy non-humans smell vaguely like rotting flesh or something. It's gross," Moxie said, flopping onto a ragged sofa they'd pulled off the side of the road.

"But you could find _a_ scent?" Christabelle encouraged. It was taking too long for them to find Amyr. If they didn't report back soon—_BOOM!_

Moxie sat up, startled, but Deredon threw himself over her, protecting her from the force of the explosion, and Christabelle screamed just before Lutharathzmas wrenched her wrist down to the floor and covered her body with his.

As she heard the usual hissing sound of the knock-out gas filling up the warehouse, Christabelle laced her fingers through Luth's, and, after a moment, he gave her hand a comforting squeeze before the darkness swallowed them up.

O.o.O

Nearly blinded by the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains over the windows across from her, Amyr wiggled around so that her back faced the light, trying so hard to go back to sleep. But she suddenly became aware of a soft snoring beside her bed. Oh-so-discreetly, she looked in the direction of the snoring.

There she was, all messy black hair and pale skin. A young, human woman had fallen asleep sitting up next to Amyr's bed. She stifled a rasp of laughter at the sight of a little stream of drool dripping from the girl's mouth.

Amyr glanced around, taking in her surroundings. It was a plain enough living room with a TV, couch, and coffee table. Stretching her stiff limbs, Amyr hopped from her sleeping place to explore. She dug her claws into the soft wood under-paw as she quietly padded around the living room. Then she stared up the stairs, listening for sounds of people waking up. When she found no sign of it, she started to climb up the steps. At the landing, she glanced down the dark hallway—though it was not so dark with her excellent night vision. There were several doors, all of which were closed, on either side of the hall. All except one that had been left slightly cracked open. Curiously, she approached it and carefully nudged the door open wider so she could slither through. Inside, it was dimmer than the hallway, but she easily made out the form of a large person asleep on the bed, buried beneath a fluffy comforter. She watched the person breathe for a moment, her tail twitching; then she ventured further into the room. When she came up to edge of the bed, she bunched the muscles in her hind legs and sprang up to get a better look at the slumbering person. As she landed softly nearly his shoulders, she noticed the mop of messy, black hair and the hard muscles of his shoulders.

Her head tilted to the side as he mumbled something in his sleep and rubbed a hand over his face. Then his eyes cracked open ever so slightly. She leaned forward, curious. When those sleepy, dark eyes under those dark, silky lashes registered her, he shoved himself up with an alarmed yelp.

She blinked, gazing back at him calmly. She noticed the sturdy look of his bare chest and the rustic tones of his skin and his strong, square jaw. He was handsome she thought.

"W-What are you doing in here? How'd you get in?" he asked as if expecting an answer from the cat. But she just flicked her tail. She saw that he needed to shave, his five o'clock shadow making him look coarse and tough. Yet, curiously, she would have rather he'd leave it. It seemed…endearing. After a moment, he visibly relaxed slightly and made a shooing motion at her. "Well, go on. Go do…catty things."

Cats do not smile, but she managed a laughter-filled twitch of the ears.

They stared at each other unmoving for a while. Then a creak sounded outside the door. The girl that had slept beside Amyr was standing in the doorway.

"Good," said the newly-awakened boy, "you can get your pesky little cat out of my room."

The girl scrunched her nose at him in indignation and moved to cuddle Amyr in her arms. "Her name is Blair, Shane. And she's not causing any trouble, so what's your deal?"

Shane glared back at the girl holding Amyr as he struggled out of his sheets. Amyr watched, fascinated as the exposed muscles of his abdomen stretched and contracted. Something about him just seemed so enchanting. As the girl left the room, Amyr craned out of her arms as far as she dared to watch the guy begin his morning routine. She liked the way his plaid pajama pants rode low on his hips and the way the thick muscles in his back moved with smooth strength as he went about his business.

Then he was gone.

She felt a twinge of disappointment but set it aside. She was being silly, after all. Why was she staring after a boy anyway? There were much more important things to worry about than a _boy_, escaping for example.

She doubted it would be difficult. After all, none of them knew what she really was, nor were they intent on keeping her hostage. As the girl carried her down the hall, Amyr started forming a plan, but she was soon distracted as they entered a bathroom and she was placed in a bathtub. Gazing around at the porcelain, she realized how small she was. Even though with her jumping skills she'd be able to reach the lip of the tub, she still would be trapped since she'd have nothing to sink her claws into and pull herself up by.

Then the water started running, and the girl chirped happily, "I'm going to give you a nice bath so your fur won't be all gunky and matted. Then we'll go shopping for a cute bed and food and water bowls and toys and…"

Amyr stopped listening as she let the water run over her paws. It was warm—not too cold, not too hot—and had a soothing effect on the pads of her paws. Seeing the water made her think of Deredon. She wondered how the others were doing. They might have tried to capture her for the Facility, but they were still her friends, and she hoped they were okay.

O.o.O

Agonized whines of a dog roused Christabelle. She forced her glued-together eyes apart only to close them again when they were met with a blinding light. That sound, she knew, was Luth. Something had happened to him. She tried to move, but something constricted around her wrists and ankles. Frustrated, she growled and struggled against the restraints. When they didn't give, she sighed and, turning her head to the side, cracked her eyes open a bit.

What she saw before her almost made her vomit. Lutharathzmas, in his canine form, was on his side, strapped down to a metal table.

A giant shard of glass protruded from his flank. Blood oozed around the wound, dyeing his rusty fur a frightening, dark red. His blood was smeared across the glass, too, and the light shown through it making it a horrible, morbid stain glass window.

O.o.O

_Drip, drip, drip._

Oliver stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to the leaky faucet of his bathroom sink. But that wasn't what was keeping him awake, despite the insanely loud nature of it. His slumber was inhibited by his mind. It was refusing to _shut up_!

He flopped over onto his side and caught sight of the clock. It read 5:03 p.m. It was almost dark, and he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep.

Groaning, he whipped his sheets off himself and slunk out of bed to get dressed. He changed into black pants, a tie-dye shirt, and tied back his hair. Shuffling down the steps, feeling as if he'd been dragged all over town by Myrnin the night before searching for a cat/girl—oh wait, he had—Oliver absently wondered where Amyr had ended up.

Feeling as if he even wanted to yawn, he stepped into the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator where he kept his supply of blood. Perhaps if he hadn't felt so drained or so hungry, he would have noticed the person in his kitchen, poised to ambush him.

**Again, I apologize for the short length! I hope you enjoyed it! :)**


	5. Where the Sun Never Shines

** Thank you all for waiting patiently. :) I hope I don't take too long to update. Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 5**

The meat in Amyr's dish tasted salty as she chomped into the large bits. She liked the feeling of her fangs sinking into the chicken; it offered a slight resistance then tangy satisfaction as her canines sliced through. This was the best-tasting meal she'd ever had. The Facility workers weren't known for their cooking skills.

"Eve, have you seen my guitar pick? The silver one?" asked a distracted voice. Amyr raised her head—still chewing—to see the blond boy who'd found her last night walking through the kitchen door.

"It's not in the case with your guitar? Then I don't know where it is, sorry, Michael," Eve replied from where she crouched over Amyr. The girl hadn't let the cat out of her sight all day, but Amyr had a plan. She'd sneak out tonight while everyone was asleep. Then she could skip town, and hopefully the others would lose her trail.

Michael stepped further into the kitchen and took hold of Eve's hand, pulling her to her feet. "Don't worry about it," he said softly as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She giggled flirtatiously and linked her arms around his neck. When they kissed, Amyr turned back to her dinner, wondering what it was like to have someone to be so close to. Christabelle and Lutharathzmas had that sort of relationship; Deredon and Moxie weren't quite at such a romantic level yet, but they were still very close. That always left Amyr alone.

Suddenly, her food didn't taste quite so appetizing anymore. She stared down at it sadly, her tail slumped on the floor.

Then more footsteps sounded at the kitchen doorway. Amyr unconsciously perked up at the sight of Shane. He had donned jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt that displayed his muscles. Quickly she bounded toward him, tangling herself in his legs as she affectionately rubbed her fur against his ankles. "Wha—?" Shane exclaimed, stopping short and looking down at the black cat. Her grey eyes blinked up at him fondly, begging for him to pick her up in those strong arms and stroke her fur. But instead, his brow furrowed, and he grumbled at Eve, "Can't you control your cat?" His harsh words stung Amyr. She slunk back to her food dish, head and tail hanging.

"Shane, look what you did. The poor thing's feelings are hurt," Eve scolded, but Shane didn't seem to be listening. He was staring wide-eyed at Amyr—Michael's eyes were trained on her as well. "What?" Eve snapped, frustrated.

"Eve. That cat just understood what Shane said," said Michael.

_Oops._ Amyr's ears laid flat and she looked over her shoulder, giving them an innocent meow.

Eve didn't seem to be totally buying what Michael had said, but the boys were still staring at her suspiciously. "Guys, animals can, like, smell emotions. She probably just heard his negative tone and smelled the disgusting, brutish disaffection Shane was exuding," Eve suggested, but the Shane and Michael still seemed unconvinced. Theatrically rolling her dark eyes so widely that Amyr wondered that they didn't pop out of her head, Eve stamped over to Amyr and lifted her into her arms. "Look at this sweet, innocent, little face. Do you honestly believe she's some mutant cat that understands speech?"

"Wouldn't put it past her," Shane growled.

_Ding dong._

The soft bell rang through the house, and Michael left to answer the door. Eve continued to glare at Shane who glared back. Amyr wished she could maybe show Shane that she wasn't just a cat. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so uncomfortable around her. But that was impossible. Suddenly feeling very sad, Amyr laid her head on Eve's arm and closed her eyes.

Michael returned, but Amyr also heard two pairs of strangely familiar footsteps behind his. The moment she saw who'd entered the kitchen, Amyr froze, terrified.

Michael explained. "Eve, these people say they lost their cat. Sorry, but I think Blaire may be theirs." Behind him stood a very short man with stylish hair and clothes and a very tall woman with a round belly and pudgy face. Both sets of beady eyes in the newcomers' faces immediately zeroed in on Amyr.

Soul-wrenching panic exploded in her chest. Without another thought, Amyr sliced her claws deep into Eve's arm to make her release. Then she streaked toward the door, praying she'd make it, but the room was lit up with a sudden, blinding light.

Everything went black.

O.o.O

If he'd been human, Oliver would have been utterly blind when he opened his eyes. The darkness was like a blanket, suffocating and heavy all around. But there wasn't much to see anyway. Cellblock walls, a very heavy metal door. He tried kicking and punching at the door, but he only managed to dent it a bit. Knowing it was a waste of time to try breaking through, he settled himself beside the door, listening to the outside and searching his mind for an escape plan.

It wasn't long before his sensitive ears picked up footsteps outside his cell. His body tensed instinctively as the footsteps approached. He could distinguish two pairs, though one sounded as if it were limping.

The door lurched open. Light exploded through, blinding Oliver's sensitive eyes. Unable to see, he desperately threw himself forward, hoping to injure the person outside.

A shriek sounded from the person he landed on as they toppled to the ground. Then came a loud grunt as rough arms yanked Oliver upright. Before he could manage to get his hands on a part of his assaulter's body so he could break bones, a gigantic amount of pain pierced through him, and he felt his body stop. He could not move. He was paralyzed. He was paralyzed by the stake that had been pushed through his back.

Another high-pitched shriek sounded, but someone hoisted him up over his shoulder and tossed him back into his cell. The sound of terrified squeaks and shuffling noises told him that somebody else had been thrown into the cell with him.

Then the door slammed closed, and it was dark again.

The other person's pitiful sniffles filled the room, and Oliver—aside from wishing he could shut the person up—wondered if it was a human. It sounded feminine. He heard ruffles as if the girl was moving. Then the person's scent drifted over him, and he couldn't believe his nose.

It was Christabelle, the sassy girl who'd turned into a pigeon right in front of his eyes.

"Oliver," she sniffed in a shaky voice, "I'm so sorr—" her voice choked off. After a quiet minute she started again. "I'll pull out the stake." A moment later, he felt her hands roll him onto his side and grip the wood protruding from his back. He barely had time to brace himself for the immense pain before she yanked hard, ripping the wood from his flesh. A single pained shout slipped from his lips before he turned onto his stomach and sat up against the wall. Fighting the groans that welled up in his throat, he carefully felt around the wound. Thankfully there hadn't been silver on the stake so it was already beginning to heal, but he'd still lost a ton of blood.

He was in trouble.

Almost as if reading his mind, Christabelle said, "Here." Just when his eyes opened, she thrust her wrist to his lips. Instinctively, his fangs unsheathed themselves, and he licked the blood trickling from her wrist.

_She cut her wrist to offer me blood. Why is she doing this? Can I drink her blood even though she's not really human?_ These thoughts raced through Oliver's mind, but he was already biting into her flesh.

His senses exploded. It had been so _very_ long since he'd enjoyed fresh blood. It was _breathtaking_.

And it was also extremely difficult to stop. But when Christabelle thumped him over the head, he came to his senses and retracted his canines, licking warm blood from his lips.

Clearing his throat he rasped, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Oliver was surprised at how kind this fiery sass was being to him. He noticed that the spark in her voice had vanished, and she now spoke with a flat, tired, defeated tone.

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she looked totally exhausted. Upon closer examination, he also realized that she had bruises in the crooks of her elbows from where a number of needles must have been stuck in, angry gashes covered her arms and legs, and there were red blotches that looked suspiciously like burns all over her. Unable to stop himself, he asked, "What did they do to you?"

His query was met with silence.

"You should really wrap up those wounds. They'll get infected."

Silence.

"Would you say _something_?"

Finally she raised her head half an inch. "What do you want me to say, Oliver? That they tortured me? That's obvious. That I would rather die a slow death from infection than continue to live like this?" Oliver was stunned into silence. "Please," her voice broke, "just leave me alone." To end the conversation, she pulled her skinny knees close and roped her arms around them, curling herself into a tight ball.

Without another word, Oliver removed his shirt, ripped it into strips, and began to dress her worst wounds.

**I truly hope you enjoyed it! Sorry that it's a bit short. :)**


	6. Fight or Give

** I am expressing my deepest thanks to all of you that have read and reviewed so far. :) You are awesome and fantastic and great and spectacular and wonderful and terrific. Love you guys!**

** Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 6**

Staring awestruck at the scene before him, Myrnin fought to make himself do something, _anything_. He was standing in Oliver's kitchen where dried blood and broken glass were splayed across the floor, the table was upturned, and several chairs were broken. Slowly, his mind began to take in the fact that something had attacked Oliver, or at least attacked his house—or Oliver just suddenly had a gigantic fit. So after thoroughly checking each and every room, Myrnin decided to bring out the big guns.

He was calling Amelie.

She was there in less than ten minutes. "I don't understand. There are few out there—even of our kind—that even have the strength to overcome Oliver," she said thoughtfully.

"Ah, perhaps would be a good time to mention the new, uh, friend that Oliver and I have acquired," spluttered Myrnin.

Amelie's blue eyes flashed coldly. "What?"

"Yes, you see, the other night, Oliver came across a rather odd, little creature who turned out to be on the run from some—how shall I say?—suspicious characters."

"I see," she purred darkly. "And you believe that perhaps these suspicious characters are the ones who have apparently attacked Oliver?"

"It is a theory, yes."

Amelie frowned and looked back at the wreckage before them. She closed her eyes for a long while, making Myrnin fidget. "Do you smell that?" she asked.

Blinking, Myrnin sniffed at the air. A faint hint of something natural and dusty like grain rested throughout the kitchen. "It almost smells like there's been a wild animal in here," Myrnin remarked, leaning to smell deeper.

"What kind of scent did those creatures you met have?"

"Well, they all kind of matched up to the animal they turned into. Amyr had a light but fierce scent while Lutharathzmas stank of wet dog." A smile twitched in the corner of Amelie's mouth.

"Then whomever this stench belongs to is our attacker. What animal comes to mind?"

Myrnin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If he concentrated, he could pick out the smell of animal blood beneath the spilled blood Oliver had poured. The faint wreak of cat piss stung his nose, but it wasn't like a normal housecat's. He grimaced at the fact that he knew the difference between cat pisses. "I'd venture perhaps a large cat. One that tends to prefer living among grain-type grasses. I'm no expert on large felines, but if I had to guess, I'd say we're dealing with a—"

"Lion," finished a strange voice.

O.o.O

Feverish moans woke Oliver out of his trance. He'd been staring into the darkness for who knew how long. But the pained noises Christabelle was making brought his wandering mind back. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Purple geese…pecking me…stop it!" was her delirious reply. Frowning, Oliver scooted toward her and felt her forehead.

"Idiot! You're burning up! Why didn't you say anything?"

"The geese! They're hurting me!" she whined softly. He sighed as she feebly fought against the delusions attacking her. This was not good. He stood up and banged on the door, but he already knew nobody was coming.

After a while, he went to sit beside her. Watching her weak thrashes made something in him crack just a tiny bit. Gently, he scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his body. If he couldn't get her medical help, he could at least lend her a comforting presence.

O.o.O

Panic rose like bile in Amyr's throat before she even opened her eyes. The familiar smells told her exactly where she was. This place with its blinding lights, stench of antiseptics, and filtered air could only be a Facility laboratory.

Sure enough, she was restrained to a vertically inclined table that forced her to face a window behind which milled some half a dozen people in long, white coats. This was a very familiar situation, and the familiarity raised the hairs on her arms.

"Ah, good morning, Subject Six," greeted a rough, all-too-familiar voice over the intercom. She saw her old handler, Richard, sitting at the intercom mike behind the glass.

Somehow, she suddenly didn't feel like speaking. She didn't think she'd ever feel like saying another word again. They'd just squashed the last, tiny, infinitesimal bit of hope that she'd had. Now she just didn't care anymore. Resting her head back, Amyr closed her eyes and resigned herself not to fight anymore. What was the point?

"Oh, don't give me attitude, Six. You know we're just taking care of you. If you tried living on the outside, you'd be revered as a freak. You'd never be happy," Richard said, almost kindly. "But, as you know, you'll have to be punished for giving us so much trouble. The subjects we sent after you were even injured during extraction." Amyr's eyes flew open and she gaped at Richard. The despicable man, with his butch, brown beard and beady, black eyes, grinned triumphantly at having stirred a reaction from her. "Yeah. Although, maybe the higher-ups will lessen your punishment since you introduced us to some very _interesting_, new subjects."

Amyr's brow creased in a confused frown, but it didn't take long for realization to dawn on her. Oliver, Myrnin, Michael. They were all…different. They weren't humans. And now the Facility was going to make them their playthings.

Richard continued, "We've even got another batch coming in once One bags them."

_Oh no, not him,_ Amyr cried silently. _Not Lirgameth!_

O.o.O

_Meet at Oliver's. 256 Newark Circle._

Claire stared at Myrnin's scrawling handwriting on the little note in her hand then glanced up at the house before which she stood. It faintly resembled the Glass house with its white pillars and grandeur; it was a Founder House. Feeling a bit ill at ease at having been invited by a vampire to a vampire's home, she stepped hesitantly up the stairs. She trusted Myrnin—mostly—and Oliver…well, she just knew that neither would cross Amelie.

Approaching the door, she realized that she didn't know whether to knock or ring the doorbell. It was odd to think of ringing a vampire's doorbell. It was like announcing, "Hello! Pizza delivery!"

But she didn't have to time to make up her mind; a loud crashing sound came from inside. Grabbing the handle, she yanked the front door open and tried rushing in, but this being a Founder House _and _a vampire's home, she, a human, was not allowed in unless permitted entry by the inhabitants. That didn't keep her from seeing inside, however.

Across the foyer, an archway opened into the kitchen, and in the kitchen she spotted two familiar silhouettes and a third stranger. The trio was struggling together. Claire stopped herself from calling their names in case she distracted them, but it was frustrating not being able to help. As she watched, she realized something. _Where is Oliver?_

The tussle inside soon diverted her attention, however, as Myrnin let out a tremendous roar and flung the third party out of the kitchen, into the foyer, and closer to the front door and Claire. She could make out some features of the man now—thick, chocolate-brown hair, smooth, tan skin, finely-toned muscles—but then he began to change. As she looked in on this strange scene, she saw the man before her transform. His arms and legs morphed into thickly corded limbs, his hands became thick and claws sprouted from them, a tail grew from his tailbone, and coarse hair emerged from his neck and shoulders. A lion. The giant beast shook his shaggy, black mane, shed his now-torn and useless clothes, and poised to attack. He was just about to leap at Myrnin when Amelie appeared out of another archway and ringed her arms around his throat. With the speed of a snake, she body-slammed him to the ground and crushed his throat between her arms. The lion slashed great gashes down her arms, but she held on until he finally fell unconscious.

O.o.O

Blistering heat licked at Michael's back, but he would have continued running even without the incentive. These people in lab coats had easily found out that he was highly susceptible to fire, and they were using it as a threat to get him to do what they wanted. He'd been running for hours with a flamethrower activated behind him, and he probably could for several more before he'd need blood, but he worried about what would happen then. These people didn't seem the accommodating type. Once he'd learned that Shane and Eve were all fine, he'd relaxed a bit and complied with their orders. He hoped he would get them to let their guard down so he could take a stab at the chink in their armor. So far, he'd been unlucky.

With the wires connected to his bare chest and the people behind the glass sitting at computers and recording data—though what data would come from his not-living body, he did not know—Michael wondered if he could put his plan into action. After the first hour or so, he'd started debating whether or not to try breaking through the glass and simply making a run for it. Now he was seriously considering it.

Before he could come to a final decision, though, the searing heat at his back disappeared and the treadmill at his feet began to slow. A thick, southern accent sounded over the intercom. "We've collected all the data we want from this trial for now, fifty-nine. Go on and step through that there door an' we'll start the next experiment in a jiff."

Somehow it was incredibly comical how polite his 'handlers' were. The southern man had cordially introduced himself over the intercom as Lionel right when Michael had awoken on that metal table. Of course, they had made it very clear that he was to follow their instruction completely or he would be punished, but they had done it with the best of manners.

Plucking the wires from his skin, Michael shuffled into the cramped space beyond the door they'd offered him. He'd determined that it was like their holding cell/transportation; it was a very small, confined elevator-like mechanism that they used to move him from place to place. After a few moments, he felt the box begin to move—delivering him to his next task that he was to perform for these crazies.

It didn't take long for the elevator to halt and the door to slide open.

Before him laid a bare, wood-paneled room in which the only object was the usual window through which the crazies in lab coats observed. He stepped into the room, frowning as he wondered what they wanted him to do.

Then he caught sight of a shadow lurking in the corner—which was amazing seeing as how the room was very brightly lit, and his eyesight was amazing. The shadow shoved away from the wall to look directly at Michael.

Michael felt his jaw drop as he gasped, "You?"

** Mwahahaha! I love cliffhangers. *Does evil little hand rub as eyes glint maliciously* ;)**


	7. The Lion Falls for the Lamb

** I know how all of you have been waiting so anxiously for this chapter. ;) Well, wait no longer! I am a generous writer. I will give you more. But then of course I create evil cliffhangers just to tick you off and make you come crawling grudgingly back for more. MWAHAHA! ;) But seriously, I hope you like it! Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and 'story alerted' so far! You are the reason I write FanFiciton! :)**

**Chapter 7**

"What is he?" Claire's face was screwed into a curious, slightly disgusted frown.

"Hm. Amyr called her kind Specials. They can evidently transform into a certain animal at will. Amyr was a black cat, for example. Her acquaintances were a dog and pigeon," Myrnin explained. "But, as this fellow makes obvious, they are not limited to domestic or small animals."

Claire crouched close to look down at the man's chiseled face. He'd returned to his human form not long after he'd been knocked unconscious. That image was burned quite clearly into Claire's mind, seeing as he'd been stark-naked. They'd covered him with a blanket, and he was now lying peacefully on Oliver's living room floor. Now that she inspected him closely, she noticed that he was quite attractive in a super-model type of way. His darkly-tanned skin looked healthy as it smoothed over his corded muscles. Even his mussed hair was feathery and thick.

"So Oliver saved a cat?" Claire still couldn't believe Myrnin's story of the other night's events.

"Yes. But that is not our main concern right now, Claire. We need to interrogate this buffoon to find out what's happened to Oliver." Myrnin's voice was awfully strained for his usual jovial self.

"Are you worried about him?" she asked.

"Not _him_ so much as Amyr. She's just a scrawny, little kit; I'm worried—"

"Wait." Pieces were beginning to fall into place in Claire's head. "You said she is a black kitten, right? And she ran away a night or so ago?"

"Yes."

"I think I know where she is."

"What?"

"Michael found a stray, black kitten rooting around our garbage a couple nights ago. I thought something felt off about her, and now I'm almost certain. We have to go—"

A sudden roar cut her off. Lion-man was on top of her, bearing enormous fangs at her. Her mind was too shocked to feel fear, but when he paused and stared at her for a very long time, she began to feel tremors starting in her body. His golden irises grew skinnier and skinnier as his black pupils dilated. They stared at each other for so long she began to wonder where Myrnin and Amelie had gone. Why weren't they helping? But as soon as Myrnin's slow, careful voice sounded, Lion-man whirled around, caging Claire between his back and the coffee table. "No!" he shouted, sounding oddly desperate. "You can't take her! She's mine! I won't let you have her!"

Claire blinked. She blinked again. Her lashes batted a million times a minute. "What?" she choked. Lion-man pressed his back against her more aggressively, making her all the more aware that he was completely nude.

She pleaded silently to Myrnin and Amelie for help.

"Um, I don't understand," Myrnin said slowly.

Lion-man's body stayed rigid as if he'd been shocked with volts of electricity. "I won't let you take her from me. She's mine," he repeated.

Myrnin, always the cool, collected one in the face of insanity. "You're a mutant so allow me to inform you that slavery was abolished many years ago. People do not own other people anymore. So I am sorry to inform you that you cannot claim young Claire here as yours."

"Claire," Lion-man breathed. As he said her name, his body relaxed slightly as though just speaking her name was some sort of stimulant. But it didn't last long. After a moment, he reached up to press his hands to his head, and he groaned in pain. "Ugh! I'm supposed to be doing something…what is it?"

Claire frowned. There was something seriously wrong with this guy—and it wasn't his giant feline DNA. Before anyone could react he let out an angry snarl and slashed his own claw down the right side of his face. Blood welled up from the long scratches, but he seemed more surprised than in pain. A gasp escaped from Claire's lips, and she couldn't stop herself from wrenching the guy's hand away from his face. "What are you doing, stupid?" she scolded. Lion-man's amber eyes—well, one eye was shut to keep blood out—blazed at her, confused. He didn't seem to understand anything that was happening. "Do you think it's just an act?" Claire called to Myrnin and Amelie.

"I don't smell deceit from him. I _do_ catch the hint of confusion and a _lot_ of attraction. Ah, the scent of cats in heat." She ignored Myrnin's snarky comment, focusing on the attraction mentioned.

"He's attracted to me." She felt stupid for stating the obvious, but it was just so dumbfounding.

Lion-man's golden eye was wide as he stared at Claire, making her wildly uncomfortable. "You are beautiful," he sighed. That didn't help Claire's discomfort. She loved Shane, and she'd never been so straightforwardly admired before. It was unsettling—yet, she had to admit that deep down somewhere she did feel that fluttery feeling like _a boy likes me! _Lion-man reached up a hand toward Claire's face; she jerked backward in alarm. But the look in Lion-man's face told her he meant no harm. His gaze dropped sadly.

Seeing the vampires offering no help, Claire stammered, "Uh, sorry. I-You just startled me. That's all. I didn't mean to make you upset." Those golden orbs shot back up to glisten with excitement. Ironically, Claire thought he acted like a pet dog, ready and eager to please.

"You didn't upset me. I just don't want to offend you," Lion-man said.

"Well, you can start unoffending us by telling us what you've done with Oliver," drilled Amelie's cool voice. She did not seem in the mood for this anymore.

"Oliver?" Claire frowned.

"We think your new admirer attacked him," explained Myrnin.

"Me?" Lion-man asked.

Amelie strode forward quickly, her posture full of anger. "Do you make it a habit to forget people you've attacked?"

Lion-man cringed away from her, into Claire. "I-I don't remember. I'm sorry!"

The powerful vampire looked as if she was ready to snap his head clean off when Claire came to his rescue. "Maybe he really doesn't remember. These people are, like you said, mutants. It wouldn't be surprising if they're powers had side effects like memory loss or split personality—which he _must _have."

Everyone was quiet, considering Claire's theory, when Lion-man whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"Hey, if you really mean that, then don't worry about it." Claire felt herself starting to feel pity for this poor creature. Anxious to distance herself from him so her feelings wouldn't deepen, she started getting to her feet.

Lion-man grabbed her wrist, a terrified light in his eye. "Don't leave me!" he cried.

Claire grappled for words. "I—Look—what is your name?"

He frowned, seeming to think about it. "Lirgameth."

"Wow, that's a mouthful… Okay, Lirgameth. I have to go, but I promise—"

"No!"

"But—"

"No! You can't leave my side! If you stray too far from me, I won't be able to protect you! I have to protect you."

Claire was speechless. Myrnin's half-hidden smile wasn't helping the situation, and Amelie appeared totally lost in thought. Rolling her eyes, Claire gave in. "Okay. You can come with us."

"Come with us where exactly?" Myrnin's chuckles were poorly masked.

Claire scowled at her mentor. "To my house. That's where Amyr is." She looked down at Lirgameth with his adoring, golden eyes and protective hands grasping her wrist. _Oh, boy. Shane's going to looove this!_

O.o.O

"What are you doing here?" Oliver hissed, his face screwed into a scowl that said he was confused, surprised, and pissed off all at the same time.

"I could ask the same of you," Michael threw back, his own brow creased in befuddlement.

Flashing his gaze to the crazies behind the observation window, Oliver shouted, "What the hell is going on?"

"As it seems you two already know each other, I suppose we can skip introductions and get right to the meat," said Lionel. "We're going to need the two of you to start a little brawl. Don't worry; we got medics at the ready. We just want to measure your strength and fighting abilities."

"A _brawl_? As in you want us to fight each other?" Michael was flabbergasted.

Lionel's tone turned patronizing. "Yes. We need you to fight. Can ya do that?"

"Uh, no," Michael spat. "We may not be friends, but we're not enemies either. I won't fight him."

"I do not plan on playing the role of your little guinea pig. So, no, I refuse to fight," Oliver announced, crossing his arms defiantly. For once, Michael felt a bond of comradery with Oliver through their shared conviction.

"Well, looks like we've done run into a wall, doesn't it?" Michael heard the secret in Lionel's voice.

Oliver's eyes glinted darkly. "Indeed it does."

"I think we've got a solution to that wall, though. We'll just break it down."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Lionel pressed one of the hundreds of buttons on the console before him. A second later, a section of one of the walls slid open to reveal a compartment identical to what they'd transported Michael in. Only this one had bars and glass dividing it from the rest of the room, and there was a girl inside. Her sleek, black hair fell around her thin, pale shoulder. She couldn't have been more than thirteen years old.

"Amyr?" Oliver gasped.

"Who is she?" asked Michael, feeling very out-of-the-loop.

"Oh, you don't recognize her? She's been staying at your house for the past couple nights."

"What?" said both vampires in unison.

Lionel guffawed with much gusto. "You two sure are dumb, huh?" _Quite the insult coming from this dumbass, _Michael snarled silently.

"Little Subject Six here has been fooling you. She's—well, why don't we just show ya?" Seconds later the girl's head lashed upward and a soul-wrenching scream ripped from her lungs. She was unconscious, but she struggled ferociously against the restraints. Then, the girl's body began to transform. She shrank and shrank, black fur sprouting all over her and whiskers extending from her cheeks. Finally, she'd become an unconscious ball of fur: Blaire.

"I-I don't understand," Michael spluttered. But while he was frowning in confusion, Oliver stomped angrily to the window.

The fire in Oliver's dark eyes looked enough to burn straight through the glass as he glowered at the crazies in lab coats. "Hurt her again and I _will_ rip your head from your shoulders and I will make _sure_ to pull very, _very _slowly." His threat even sent chills through Michael's body.

"Oh, don't worry. We won't hurt her. _If _you cooperate with us completely," Lionel said, steeping his fingers.

Michael scoffed disbelievingly. "This is ridiculous. We are _not_ going…to… Oliver?"

Eyes cold and blank, Oliver slowly faced Michael and muttered, "Sorry, Michael."


	8. Peace Before the Storm

** Hey! Sorry it's taken a little while to get this chapter up. I got busy with school and stuff, but it is spring break now! So yay! :D anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thanks to all who read and review!**

**Chapter 8**

Grateful that they had been able to find Lirgameth some clothes, Claire watched as he fidgeted anxiously as Myrnin blocked him from walking up the stairs. They were on the porch of the Glass house, and Claire had had the forethought to remove Lirgameth from clinging to her so that Shane wouldn't instantly explode with rage. Grating the key into the lock, she opened the door. "Hey, guys! Anybody home? I need to talk to you."

"Claire!" shrieked a panicked voice from the kitchen. Alarmed, Claire swept further into the house.

"Eve, what's going—oh my God!" she gasped when her gaze landed on Shane's crumpled body splayed out on the kitchen tile. "What happened?"

"Some people came and said Blaire was their cat then they set off an explosion or something that knocked us out. They took Blaire and Michael, Claire!" Eve's face looked as if dirty water had been dribbled down her face as she cried and her mascara ran in long streaks. Kneeling on the opposite side of Shane to jerk him awake, Claire tried keeping her cool. Losing her head would only lead to Eve losing it even more.

"Let's just get Shane—awake." Claire's voice hitched.

Wordlessly, Eve nodded and feebly shook their roommate. Claire's panic forced her to greater lengths—she violently rattled him back and forth, slapping his cheeks. Thankfully, his eyelids fluttered open, and he looked around, perplexed. "What the hell?" he croaked, his voice rough from slumber.

"Thank God," Claire whispered, pressing her head into his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. "Don't scare me like that."

"Wait. What's going on?"

"Those people from before took Michael and Blaire," Eve sniffled. She was starting to regain some of her usual fire because although her nose and eyes still leaked, her jaw was set determinedly.

"Why would they do that? How do you know they're really gone?" Shane asked, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm quite certain they took them," Myrnin interjected from the doorway. "The feline you called Blaire is not an ordinary cat—"

"I knew it!" Shane blurted, earning him a glare from Myrnin for interrupting him. Shane, with his usual attitude, glared right back.

But Myrnin didn't seem inclined to venture further into the argument with Shane because he let it go and continued, "And seeing as they've taken Oliver, it wouldn't be a surprise for them to take Michael as well. They seem quite fond of unusual creatures."

Eve scrubbed her face with her palms as she stood up. "Then we have to go kick some ass and get them back. I don't give a damn who they are. They took Michael. It's time to pay up." And she really looked like she meant it. Her expression was completely serious and so unlike her.

"Wait, I still don't get what's going on," Shane grumbled, taking the hand Claire offered to help him up. "How was the cat not normal? Who are these people interested in weird creatures? And who is that?"

Claire's stomach clenched with nervousness when she glimpsed who he was referring to. Lirgameth lurked in the doorway, blocked only by Myrnin. He looked anxious to get past him and cling to Claire again. "Uh, that's Lirgameth," she answered.

"Lirga—Who?"

"He's like Amyr—I mean, Blaire. They are people who can turn into animals. Blaire is really a girl named Amyr. Lirgameth is apparently the one who captured Oliver, but he doesn't seem to remember it now."

"He got one over on Oliver?" A grin spread over his face as he looked at Lirgameth. "I think I could like this guy."

Claire would have rolled her eyes had she not been so worried about everything—namely when Shane found out Lirgameth's little crush. "Yeah. Um, anyway, since Amyr is gone, we don't really have any leads on how to find Michael and the others."

"Well, I might be able to help." The voice was unexpected. Everybody's gazes turned to Lirgameth. His face flushed slightly at the attention—an odd reaction in such a good-looking guy. He continued, "I may not remember anything about all this, but I can still track pretty well. If you have something that has Amyr's scent on it, I could find where they've taken her and the others you're looking for."

"Her bed!" Eve shrieked instantly. She dashed out of the room and returned a second later with the box Amyr had slept in and shoved it at Lirgameth.

He blinked and took the box and moved out into the living room. Everyone followed. He placed it on the floor and straightened. Catching sight of all of them watching him, his cheeks reddened again. "I, uh, have to changed form so I can find the scent easier," he said. His golden eyes flickered to Claire, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile. She didn't realize but Shane, standing beside her noticed the exchange and caught his first wind of something suspicious, but he left it alone—for now. Lirgameth reached his hands to unbutton his borrowed shirt and slide it off, baring the golden skin underneath.

When he started unbuttoning his also-borrowed jeans, Shane broke in, "Whoa, okay, I don't really know how this works, but I don't particularly appreciate the strip show in front of my girlfriend…or me, for that matter."

Lirgameth looked genuinely surprised. "Sorry. I didn't want to ruin these clothes; they aren't mine."

"Whose are they?"

"Oliver's," Claire answered, knowing Lirgameth probably didn't remember.

"Oh, then you should definitely rip them to shreds, if possible," Shane declared.

Lirgameth shrugged and before anyone could stop him, he began to transform. His hands widened and grew fur and claws, his thick, coarse mane sprouted along his neck and spine, his jaw elongated to form the muzzle. In mere moments a full-grown, deadly lion stood before them, kicking the jeans off of his hind legs. Claire heard Shane and Eve murmur in awed admiration.

Shaking out his shaggy, dark mane, Lirgameth faced the box and buried his nose in it, sniffing loudly. Then he lifted his head and tasted the air, padding slowly around until he caught the trail. As he stalked to the door, his claws made _tap _noises on the wood.

As the whole posse moved to follow in his wake, Shane muttered to Claire, "This could compete for the weirdest thing that's happened to us. That's saying something."

She giggled thinking how true that was.

O.o.O

Wiping the unnaturally pale blood from his chin, Michael glared up at Oliver. Somewhere inside, he realized Oliver's reasons, but that didn't change the fact that he was attacking Michael—a, if not quite friend, comrade.

Oliver, an odd expression on his face, glanced at the girl—who remained unconscious though they'd returned her to her human form—strapped to the inclined table. Despite his seemingly not conflicted actions toward Michael, the older vampire appeared to be waging an internal war. What the sides were worried Michael slightly.

They'd apparently stayed docile for too long because a soft whirring sounded from behind the bars between them and Amyr. The girl's long, black hair flew up like a flock of ravens to shower back down as if the birds were chained to the ground. She opened her mouth wide as if to belt out an agonized scream, but it never came. Michael saw that she was awake now, and tears were streaming from her grey eyes as she struggled in a silent shriek.

The sight soon disappeared as Oliver barreled into Michael, ramming him into the wall and breaking the wood paneling. Determined to remain on the defense, Michael jammed his arm up into Oliver's to make him release his hold so that Michael could swiftly slide out to stand behind Oliver. He knew he couldn't catch Oliver off-guard—not if he was being serious. But Oliver didn't seem to be using much of his vampire abilities. It was like he was letting Michael get one up on him as Michael looped his arms under Oliver's to link his fingers behind his neck. For a while, Oliver played like he was struggling.

Unfortunately, that didn't fool the white coats. Amyr didn't scream this time either, but her helpless whimper was almost worse. Oliver growled deep in his throat, reaching back and wrenching Michael up over his head to slam him into the ground, hard. For a horrifyingly familiar second, Michael thought that Oliver was going to bite him, but as Oliver dropped his head closer to Michael's, he let out an almost indiscernible whisper: "Weakness around the window."

It took a moment to understand Oliver's meaning, but when Michael glanced at the window, he realized the message. Rolling quickly away to his feet, Michael faced Oliver. The other vampire gazed at him with dark eyes and gave him the tiniest of nods. Flipping blond hair from his eyes, Michael advanced and, with all his might, slammed Oliver backward—and kept going—until they both collided with human bone-breaking force into the wall just beside the window. The wood shattered, revealing cinderblocks. Feeling slightly sorry, Michael grabbed Oliver's shirt and physically bashed him against the cinderblocks again and again. Soon, the blocks began giving way, splitting and cracking like a giant spider web. One last strong hit; the wall crumbled; Oliver whipped from Michael's grasp; he bared his fangs at Lionel; Michael rushed to subdue a big guy that was presumably the guard. The rest of the white coats cowered in every place they could hide, terrified of these monsters. Sometimes, Michael didn't mind being a monster. Sometimes.

This was one of those times. If he was a monster, he could save Amyr and escape from this place. If he was a monster, he could protect the others from these people.

The thought of them getting their mitts on Eve or Claire or Shane lit a fire in his chest, and, without meaning to, he let out a feral, dark roar like a lion. The guard he'd cornered now crouched on the floor, covering his head with his hands. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael felt remorse but not much. A glance over his shoulder told him that Oliver was already extracting Amyr from her restraints. She flopped limply so he had to catch her and lift her effortlessly in his arms. When he stepped back through the hole they'd created, Oliver said, "There are others they're holding captive."

Michael nodded in agreement with saving them; he silently chuckled, thinking that today held the record number of times Michael and Oliver had agreed on things. "How do we find them?"

Oliver gave him an "are-you-stupid?" look before grunting, "We trash the place of course."

"Right. Sorry. Me and my foolish wanting to be inconspicuous."

Washing his gaze over the mess they'd made, Oliver scoffed, "I think that ship has sailed."

He had a point.

"Whatever," Michael sighed, ready to get out of this hellhole. "Let's go."

Oliver, Amyr still hanging in his arms, led the way out.

** Hey, there. Me again. ;) So what did you think? I'd really love to know, even if you thought it was dirt. :P So review!**


	9. Too Quiet

**Please enjoy this chapter! :) A huge thanks to you guys reading and reviewing this. It really means a lot. Also, if any of you read these author notes…you probably don't…but if you do! Then I wanted to see how many actually like the idea of Oliver X Christabelle? I'm just curious. ;) My fantastic friend, Evanescence-in-Constantinople, mentioned it, and I admit it intrigued me. Anyway, leave a review with your opinion about the pairing. I'm going to laugh when nobody does since everyone probably ignores these obnoxious author notes. ;) I'll stop rambling now. Hope you like it!**

**Chapter 9**

His mind raced faster than it ever had before. Oliver pleaded silently to the universe to let Christabelle be okay. When he'd been taken from their cell, she'd still been whimpering about purple geese; he'd tried reasoning with the guards escorting him to get her help, but they'd refused to listen. He'd been gone long enough that she could have gotten worse.

"Do you know where you're going?" Michael asked from behind.

"Yes. I can recall the route by which they brought me."

But something unnerved Oliver. They'd been crashing through rooms and hallways, never running into another lab coat. The building was eerily quiet. There were fresh scents of humans all over the place, along with dozens of strange ones like Christabelle's and Amyr's, yet nobody crossed their path let alone tried stopping them. Barging anxiously into the hall that his cell was connected to, Oliver nearly dropped Amyr in his haste. He stopped in front of the door where his own scent lingered. "Open it," he commanded.

Thankfully Michael obeyed this time. Oliver wasn't in the mood to argue with insolence.

But as Michael tugged at the door, it didn't open. Of course, it was locked. How had Oliver not thought of that? He felt amazed at his lack of forethought. Something, he realized, was making him rash and stupid.

"Find a guard." The voice was so soft and quiet, like the flutter of a moth's wing.

Frowning at Amyr's words, Oliver said, "They're all gone."

"They have the keys. If you do not find one, we cannot open the door." She didn't sound even the slightest bit frightened or saddened by her words; her voice was only laden with an overwhelming exhaustion.

The sound of footsteps and breathing reached Oliver's ears. As he turned to face the person approaching, the newcomer said, "Keys, huh? You mean like these?" Facing the young man, Oliver saw him swinging keys around his forefinger, a smirk on his face.

"Deredon," breathed Amyr, relief a light feather in her tone.

Deredon held up his hands in surrender at seeing Michael's and Oliver's severe gazes. "I'm on your side this time. They've got Moxie. I want her back." His words were simple, primitive almost, like a caveman. Yet they carried meaning weighted like a sheet of lead.

"We can trust him," said Amyr.

Still tentative to trust this boy, Oliver watched him closely as he moved to unlock the cell door.

"How did you escape?" Michael asked.

Deredon searched for the correct key on the ring as he answered, "My handler got distracted by the commotion I'm assuming you two caused. While he's attention was diverted I knocked him out and stole his keys. Ah!" The lock released and the heavy, metal door creaked open.

Oliver could smell the stench from inside before he'd stepped forward—inside stank of fear, pain, and sweat. Rushing past the others, he probed the darkness for Christabelle's disheveled form.

There.

Slumped in the far corner, red hair dulled and pale skin slicked with sweat, was Christabelle. Her long lashes casted shadows over her cheeks, making her appear terribly gaunt. For a stomach-clenching second, Oliver feared she'd died while he'd been gone. But then he noticed the slight rise and fall of her chest; relief spread over him, a welcome blanket. Amyr dropped from Oliver's arms to kneel beside the ill girl. After examining her for a moment, Amyr declared, "We must get her out of here quickly." She began lifting Christabelle, supporting her on her shoulder. It was quite the odd sight, such a short, young girl holding up an older, taller girl. When Oliver moved to help, Amyr shook her head. "I will carry her."

Doubtful that she was strong enough, he observed closely as they exited the cell, but Amyr seemed to have regained her energy, and then some. This odd, little girl was deceptively strong.

"What now?" Michael asked.

Glancing up, Oliver spied Deredon slowly making his way down the corridor, stopping at every cell door as if to smell the inhabitants. "What is he doing?" Oliver wondered aloud.

"Looking for Moxie and Lutharathzmas," Amyr explained, stepping to follow Deredon.

Michael frowned. He asked, "Why don't we just open all the doors and release everyone?"

Oliver scowled. Leave it to the idealist child to conjure such foolish thoughts. As if they had time to trouble with so many people, many of whom were probably ill physically or mentally.

Amyr halted and looked over the shoulder not supporting a sickly girl. "Oh, you would not want that. Not all of us are as tame as my pack."

"You're pack?" Oliver scoffed.

She blinked, unfazed by his untactful tone. "Yes." Then she turned and strode toward Deredon who had nearly reached the end of the hall.

Folding his arms exasperatedly, Oliver trailed after them, Michael behind him.

O.o.O

The sensation of Shane's hand grasping hers made Claire feel wonderful despite the situation. She felt the most normal she had in a long time. Sure, she still had a mad vampire scientist for a boss, a self-loathing vampire for a roommate, and a shape shifting lion-man for an admirer, but with Shane's palm pressed against her own and his fingers entwined with hers, that all seemed a world away. She suddenly wished they could be alone in her room, cuddled under the covers, his sturdy arms around her.

But instead they were traipsing like a herd of buffalo through the dark streets of Morganville.

Ahead, Claire could make out the silhouette of the lion, Lirgameth, as he padded along, tasting the air occasionally. Everyone was eerily silent, too solemn for speech. The only sound came from their footsteps—though Myrnin and Amelie moved rather deftly in their vampire grace, making little noise at all.

Finally, Shane broke the silence, but he spoke in hushed tones, as if to hide his words from someone, though the only one likely to not hear him was Eve. "So what's the deal with you and lion boy?"

Her heart thumped in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"I saw that look between you two, like you've got a connection. I'm just curious to know what happened to make him trust you."

Claire avoided looking at Shane. "He just…likes me. I don't know. He saw me and took to me."

In front of them, Myrnin let out a little, high-pitched noise that hinted he knew more to the story. Shane easily caught on to that, to Claire's dismay. "What are you making rodent noises for?" he challenged.

Myrnin did not pause in his stride, but flipped a smirk over his shoulder and said, "I beg your pardon, but that was not a rodent-like sound at all. And my amusement stems from the half-truth pouring from my pupil's lips."

"Half-truth?" Shane stopped, let go of her hand, and looked at Claire, his brow furrowing.

"Shane, look, it's not that big a deal, okay? Do we really need to talk about this now?" she said.

Shane's face was cast in shadow, only a tiny bit of light from the sliver of moon overhead illuminated his hair and nose and cheeks. "I don't know, do we?"

Sighing Claire looked into his face, feeling his gaze burning on her skin. "He likes me. A lot, okay? It's not a big deal. He's just like a kid who needs someone to attach to."

Myrnin chuckled, muttering, "I don't think a child is the best metaphor to use in describing him."

"Myrnin! Shut up!" snapped Claire.

Before Myrnin could voice the indignant retort that sat at the ready on his tongue, Shane moved to stand directly in front of Claire, blocking her vision of anything but his face—the face that just a moment ago she'd yearned to touch and kiss. "Do you mean he loves you?" Shane's question was so straightforward that it stunned Claire.

She was so stunned, in fact, that she stumbled over her answer. "Y-Yes."

"But you don't return his feelings, right?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then we can deal with this later. Right now we need to find Michael."

"Agreed," Amelie said coldly. She hadn't spoken since they'd left, and her expression had turned to ice under the moonlight. "Now let's go."

**As requested by an unknown guest in a review, I tried adding a little more Claire and Shane action, and will continue to do so in the future. :) Please, if you have any suggestions, I am all…well, technically eyes since I'm reading your words not hearing them…ANYWAY I welcome any criticism or requests. Thanks so much to you guys for reading and reviewing! Oh, and don't forget to review if you want to share your opinion about Christabelle X Oliver!**


	10. Distant Thunder

** Sorry, sorry, sorry! I got super busy with school and other writing obligations and just a whole bunch of crap! I'm really sorry this one took so long. :( I will try to keep that from happening again. **

**Also, heads up; this story will be coming to an end soon, sadly. I've had fun, and I'm happy that some of you (not all, I'm sure) enjoyed it. Anyway, sorry again for taking so long to update! Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 10**

Amyr watched calmly as Deredon unlocked the thick door. They both tasted the familiar scent on the air, but they also scented blood. Lutharathzmus's blood. The room beyond was blanketed in the stench, and they feared what they'd find.

But thankfully, the cell was not grotesquely splattered with blood as Amyr had imagined. There was only Luth, his shaggy, copper hair a mop on his head and his knees hugged tightly to his chest. He sat perfectly in the center of the cell, and he only moved to blink up at them.

"Come on, man. We're getting out of here," said Deredon. He stepped inside and held out a hand to the other boy. For a moment, Luth stared at Deredon's hand as if he did not understand, but the hesitation disappeared quickly. Both boys hurried out of the room and moved on down the hall, but Amyr stood still, watching Luth go. Something was off about him. He hadn't even glanced at Christabelle, supported on Amyr's shoulder, as he'd passed. The two had always been sparing and inconsistent in their displays of affection for each other, but she found it strange that he did not seem even the slightest bit worried about her. _Has something happened?_ she wondered.

She did not have time to dwell long on the subject for Deredon quickly discovered the cell which held Moxie. As he anxiously jammed the key into the lock and wrenched open the door, Amyr hobbled closer, aware of their other companions, Michael and Oliver, drawing up behind her.

"Moxie? Moxie!" Deredon called, worry flowing unfiltered in his tone. Inside, the cell was dark, but almost immediately, a small shape darted out from the shadows. Amyr recognized the blond curls and tomboy grin. Moxie clung to Deredon, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs linked about his waist.

"Now that we've gathered your friends, might I suggest that we exit at once?" Oliver droned, sounding utterly bored and untouched by the scene before him.

Deredon apparently agreed one hundred percent; as soon as she released him, he hooked one arm under Moxie's knees and the other around her shoulders and hoisted her up to carry her like a princess. She looked startled and like she might protest, but he began rushing toward the exit before she could utter one word.

The rest of them followed, glancing about, still wary of the lab coated men.

As Deredon led the way out, Amyr staggered along with Christabelle. The younger girl was not tired in the slightest, but the elder stumbled over her feet often. Amyr considered simply picking up Christabelle and carrying her, but she knew that Christabelle's pride would not allow it. She wished that Luth would offer; he would be the only person she'd allow to carry her. Yet he still acted totally aloof to his friend's condition.

Finally, Deredon pushed open a cream painted door to bath them with the night's breath. They piled out the doorway to observe their surroundings. Amyr recalled the path back to Morganville, but she did not think it the safest place to seek refuge at the moment. The Facility's people would still occupy the town considering their interest in its nocturnal occupants.

"Where do we go now?" Michael asked.

"I might be able to get us back to Morganville, but I'm not certain," said Moxie. She looked at each of them with an intense, dark gaze as if expecting them to challenge her. She'd always been rather aggressive.

"For now we should find shelter," Oliver declared. "The sun will be rising soon. I don't want to be caught out in its rays."

"We're in the desert. Where do we find shelter from the sun?" Michael scoffed.

"I know where we can go," Moxie announced suddenly, a secret in her voice. "But you're probably not going to like it."

Deredon ruffled her scruffy hair fondly. "What's your idea, Moxie?"

"We could just stay here, inside the Facitlity."

The vampires both burst out in protest while the Specials stayed quiet. Amyr wondered at their different way of dealing with situations. She'd always carefully and civilly contemplated dilemmas with her pack, each listening to the others' ideas. But these vampires seemed less tolerant of suggestions.

When the pair quieted, Amyr said softly, "She may have a point."

"How so?" Oliver snapped, glaring at her unbelievingly.

"Now that we have taken control of the building, the people inside pose little threat to us. Our powers give us enough of an advantage. Until we can find another solution, we would be unwise to dismiss the possibility of using the Facility for shelter."

Oliver blinked, his coal eyes glistening in the moonlight. He was silent for a long moment then he straightened his shoulders and nodded as if he hadn't just fervently rejected the idea just seconds ago. "I suppose that is the wisest choice for the moment." Then he stepped back toward the door, reentering the torturous prison which they had so recently escaped.

O.o.O

The air lay still around them. Claire blinked sleepily at the twinkling stars above. They'd passed Morganville's town limits some time ago; much to her surprise, Amelie had let them through without a word. Now they were traversing the desert, the only sign of civilization the fading tire tracks in the sand that Lirgameth had found.

Dawn would soon be upon them, and Claire knew she should have been worried about the vampires, but she didn't have enough energy to worry.

Shane's voice brought her mind back down from the heavens above. "Should I give you a piggyback ride?"

Claire smiled at him. "That's alright. I don't want to slow you down."

"You? Slow _me _down?"

"Hey, I'm pretty heavy despite my vertically challenged stature."

"Oh yeah?" To prove her wrong, he swept one arm under her knees and the other around her arms and swung her around in a wide circle. She screamed and clutched at his thick shoulder—half in fright of flying from his grasp and half because she simply wanted to grab at his steady, comforting muscles.

"Ahem." The throat clearing source turned out to be Amelie, which Claire and Shane discovered once he'd stopped whirling her around. The couple blinked at her. "Perhaps if you were to pay attention you might realize that we have arrived at our destination and that it is foolish to continue your…tomfoolery."

Indeed, when they looked up, before them stood a very plain building with gray cinderblocks and a metal roof. It was amazingly inconspicuous, being the lone structure in the surrounding flatland. It was a wonder nobody had discovered it and questioned its purpose. But, then again, they were not far from Morganville, the strangest place Claire knew to exist; it wouldn't be surprising if a little oddness had rubbed off on places close by.

"What now?" Shane asked, setting Claire on her feet.

Eve stepped forward, gazing solemnly at the building above. "We walk in, and kick some ass."

"It's a bit unpolished but sounds like a plan," Myrnin chuckled.

O.o.O

"Oliver," Michael hissed.

The vampires stood separate from the others in the big room they'd chosen to use as a base. Oliver fixed his dark gaze on the younger vampire. "What?" he said in a flat tone.

"I know you've probably already realized this, but we need provisions."

Indeed, the thought had crossed Oliver's mind, but upon closer inspection of the blond boy, Oliver understood. Vampires had naturally pallid skin, but their veins did not usually protrude from their skin as Michael's did. He was hungry. He needed blood fast. Oliver wondered when he'd last fed. Thankfully, Oliver had been drinking his meal right as he'd been taken, so he was not in so dire a state; he had not been subjected to Michael's exerting experiments either, though. "There is nothing we can do for it now. We will have to wait. We cannot very well send them for supplies." He jerked his head at the Specials.

Amyr bent over Christabelle who she'd laid carefully on the floor. Lutharathzmas milled aimlessly about the middle of the room. The other two, Deredon and Moxie, had split off in search of food—human food, useless to Oliver and Michael.

"What are we going to do now?" Michael wondered aloud. He didn't sound particularly frightened, just concerned. Oliver felt disgust twist his mouth at Michael's incredibly vigilant human emotions.

Not deigning to answer his question, Oliver moved to examine Christabelle's condition—if only to escape Michael's annoying speak.

"She will not last. We must do something or she will die," Amyr stated calmly, though her voice reeked of worry.

"Perhaps they have medicines here," Oliver suggested, brushing his fingers along Christabelle's cheek. She leaned into his caress as if the cold touch comforted her. For a moment, he lingered, lost in the experience. Then he blinked and realized what his actions looked like. Straightening up, he announced, "I'm going to look for medicine for Christabelle."

"I will go with you." The words were so unexpected, they nearly made Oliver jump. Nearly. Lutharathzmas, the one who'd spoken, stared at him blankly as though he did not even understand his own words.

Oliver frowned and opened his mouth to reject the idea, but Amyr cut in. "I think that is for the best."

When he glowered at her, Oliver saw something in her face—relief. But as she watched Lutharathzmas walk to leave the room, he got the sense it wasn't about the possibility of helping Christabelle.


End file.
